


In Grey Worsted

by literaryspell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abduction, M/M, Multiple magical amputations (somewhat graphic), murder (unintentional)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-03 02:25:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/376061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryspell/pseuds/literaryspell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's only chance at happiness is slipping away, one piece at a time. He isn’t about to give up, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Grey Worsted

**Author's Note:**

> Finally posting my second [](http://hp-darkfest.livejournal.com/profile)[**hp_darkfest**](http://hp-darkfest.livejournal.com/) fic! It was written to this prompt: _Draco's dark mark is killing him. Harry is desperate to keep him alive, enough to kill and steal other body parts to replace the infected ones._ Thank you so much to [](http://secretsalex.livejournal.com/profile)[**secretsalex**](http://secretsalex.livejournal.com/) for the beta!

 

**then**

"Harry, I don't feel well."

**now**

It was the first time Harry had used his Invisibility Cloak in years. The last time he could remember pulling it out was when he'd wanted to hide a painting he'd bought for Draco on their first trip together. He'd wrapped the painting in the cloak and tried to make it less obvious that he was carrying something. Draco had found him out, of course, and demanded that Harry show him what he'd hidden. On the train back to London, Harry had revealed the painting. When Draco had seen it at the gallery in Paris, he hadn’t said anything, hadn’t pointed it out to Harry, but he'd looked at it with yearning and Harry had so related to that look—he'd directed it at Draco for years, after all—that Harry had purchased it.

Upon seeing the painting, Draco, again, said nothing. He only smiled that soft, surprised smile and kissed Harry, and thanked him.

Harry's fingers shook. He wished he hadn’t remembered that. It had been so long since Draco had smiled like that.

Dress shoes clacking on cobblestone brought Harry back, and he tightened his grip on his wand. He closed his eyes and thought of Draco.

_"Petrificus Totalus."_ Then a muffling spell for the thud. Then a Disillusionment charm for the body. Levitation. Apparition.

**then**  
"I don't know what to do," Harry whispered. He sat on the bed beside Draco and tried not to think of how sick he looked. He was sweating but shivering, his skin no longer a pale gold but grey. Red rimmed his eyes, and pants escaped his chapped lips.

"It's just a cold, some Muggle rubbish you brought back from your slumming trips," Draco said. His voice sounded strong, but in a forced way.

"But I'm not sick."

Draco scoffed. "Yes, well, you also survived the great food poisoning of last spring whilst I was bedridden for weeks."

Harry chuckled. "I think you were probably all right after a couple days."

"And I will be again, in a couple days."

And in a couple days, Draco _was_ better. He had colour again and could stand room temperature.

"See? All that worry for nothing." Draco rolled his eyes.

Harry kissed him, hard. Draco didn’t tease him or fight him the way he usually did when he knew Harry was worried. He just put his hand on the back of Harry's neck and let Harry reassure himself.

"See? Good enough to kiss. Good enough for more, if you're up to it." He grabbed Harry's belt and tugged him forward, against Draco's body.

"I am _so_ up for it." He gave Draco a smarmy wink, and Draco just laughed and took off his clothes, watching Harry do the same.

Draco was thinner than he had been. He'd always been slender, insisting on watching what he ate except when it came to certain candies. Now, though, Harry looked away. He didn’t want to take in the sharp ribs and pointed hipbones.

"I'll get it back," Draco said quietly.

Harry started. He hadn’t realized Draco was watching him. "I just didn’t really know how much you'd lost."

Draco shrugged. "I haven’t been able to keep much down, but I'm better now." He got onto the bed and stroked his cock. Harry's eyes were drawn away from his wasted body to the actions of his hand. He was easily distracted, and that would never change.

"Joining me, or is this a one-man show?"

Harry swallowed, his own cock hardening rapidly. "Definitely joining," he said, crawling onto the bed beside Draco. At first, he was hesitant to touch him, not because he wasn’t attracted to him—he very much still was; it was still Draco, after all—but because he seemed fragile. Like his bones might break and his skin might bruise.

Then Draco kissed him again and he forgot about everything but that.

**now**

Draco was unconscious. He had been for almost a day, the longest day of Harry's life. He'd put Draco's still body through spell after spell, potion after potion. Nothing had worked. His left arm was grey and cold. When Harry had examined it, two fingernails had fallen off.

Once Harry had finished vomiting, he'd done the only thing he knew to do. The greyness had been seeping up Draco's arm, and he couldn’t risk even owling Hermione for advice. He'd put Draco under as a precaution; he didn’t think Draco would be waking up, but it would be horrific if he did.

And then he'd cut off Draco's left arm. Above the elbow, a hack job with a spell, something he'd learned in Auror training, meant to save a person if their leg or arm was pinned under something and time was of the essence. The illness he'd felt practicing on a slab of meat was nothing compared to doing it to Draco's arm, the arm that had wrapped around Harry countless times, that had weaved together with Harry's own when they walked down the street. Fingers that had soothed Harry, incited him, caressed him, gone. A wrist that had bruised under a night of near-violent passion. A forearm whose Mark Harry had learnt to accept.

A Mark that was determined to kill him. It seemed Death Eaters had an expiry date once their leader was well and truly gone. Only five years, two of them spent together. Not enough. Others had gone quicker, some of them overnight. St. Mungo's had no known cure. No magical methods slowed the disease. It was inevitable.

Draco seemed a little better after the rotted appendage had been removed. His breathing deepened and evened. But the wound wasn’t healing, no matter what Harry did. He kept casting blood replenishing spells but he couldn’t do that forever. Even Draco's body would give up.

The man from the street was conscious but frozen in place. Harry felt the desperate need to talk to him, to explain himself. He quelled the urge, however. He could not be forgiven.

"I can only think that you would do the same," Harry said, before spelling the man unconscious. As Harry removed the man's left arm, he wondered if it was true.

*

"What did you _do_?" Draco shouted. The look of horror and disgust on his face made Harry step back in shame.

"I had to."

Draco had almost full use of the arm. It was slightly bulkier than Draco's right arm—the man had been heavier than Draco, an easy feat. The place where the two fleshes met was hideous, a twisted enmeshment of different-toned skin.

"Harry," Draco said, a sob in his throat. "Harry."

Harry couldn’t stay away. He crawled onto the bed beside Draco, took him in his arms. He tried not to shudder when Draco's new arm thudded over his back, an attempt at a returned embrace. He held Draco as he cried, cried with him.

"It's because I love you," Harry said, trying to convince them both. "I can't let you go."

"I don't want to go. Harry, I don't ever want to go."

**later**  
Harry awoke to the sound of Draco sobbing. He jerked awake, alert in an instant. "What's wrong?" he demanded. He immediately checked Draco's arm; Draco had taken to covering it in a sleeve, even as he slept, he so hated the sight of it. But the arm seemed fine, the scarring still vivid but no sign of infection. "What is it?"

Draco stilled at the sound of Harry's voice. He turned to Harry, his face ashen. Wordlessly he held out his right arm.

"No," Harry said, shaking his head.

Draco broke out into fresh sobs, his voice almost a scream when he said, "It isn't fair!"

Harry held him, rocked him. "We'll get through this," he promised. To his horror, as he watched, the rot spread past Draco's blackened fingernails over his hand, as slow as it could while still being measurable, but fast enough to make Harry leap to his feet.

"No, Harry," Draco said, seeming to calm himself even as Harry's own panic ratcheted up. "Not again, you can't."

"It's not like he died," Harry said, throwing robes on. "I stopped the bleeding, Oblivated him, and sent him to St. Mungo's. He's fine."

"You stole his arm!"

Harry turned, wand in hand. "For you." He knocked Draco out and Disapparated.

*

There was no time to wait, to stake out a proper donor. No time for Invisibility Cloaks and silencing spells. Harry Apparated into a Muggle London park and grabbed a young woman, the first person he saw. She screamed, but the sound travelled with them through the Apparition back to Harry and Draco's house.

Harry cast a Body Bind and brought her into the bedroom where Draco was reclined against the headboard. He'd been gone only a moment, but Draco's arm was lost almost to his shoulder.

"Fuck, fuck," Harry chanted. He froze, uncertain, for a second. He could let Draco go, painlessly, without having to wake up to another foreign body part spelled to him.

But Harry wasn’t ready to say goodbye. He held Draco's arm away from his body and cut it away with the spell. He choked as he kissed Draco's wrist, blood streaming from the arm onto the bed and floor, before he Banished it, trying not to think of the way Draco's skin squished and slid over the tissue beneath.

Harry turned to the young woman. He had to pause again. She was young, so young. "I love him," he explained. He spelled her unconscious and took her arm, just below where it connected to her shoulder. It was almost the same weight as Draco's had been, a little lighter. It bled freely and Harry hastened to connect it to Draco's body. It healed more quickly, the scarring less atrocious and the tones almost matching.

After healing the young woman's stump and replenishing her blood loss, Harry Apparated back to Muggle London and left her outside a reputable hospital. As he had done with the man, he left her money, not nearly enough. It could never be enough.

Then he returned home and made a new sleeve for Draco's right arm. He pulled it over the feminine arm and curled around Draco, at last falling asleep after hours of the most grotesque images flashing in front of his eyes.

**again**  
"Draco, I made breakfast. Come on and have some, I want to clean up before I go to work."

Draco groaned. "I'll clean it up, I want to sleep a bit more."

Harry laughed. "You've already slept about twelve hours, you know. Come eat with me."

"No, Harry."

At once, the joviality left Harry. It had been seven weeks since Draco's right arm had needed replacing. He'd only just begun to think it was over, only just started to let himself think he'd cured Draco, that everything would be all right. That after everything he'd sacrificed over his life, he'd actually be rewarded with the one thing he wanted most.

"Draco, what's happened?" Harry was already approaching the bed. He tugged on the covers and Draco pulled back, but couldn’t hold out and let go with a sigh.

"Let it take me," Draco whispered. He closed his eyes and wouldn’t look down.

Harry couldn’t look away. Draco's legs were both grey and decomposing, rotten from toe—oh, god, some toes weren’t attached any more—to mid-thigh. Harry retched into his hand but swallowed. "You're… oh, god, Draco, you might die."

"Harry, listen to me."

Tearing his eyes away from Draco's legs, from his toes—

_"Aw, does my boyfriend want a foot rub?"_

—Harry tried to focus on Draco's words.

"I don't want to go on like this. You can't keep hurting other people, Harry. This isn’t you, and this—" Draco threw his arms up. "—This isn’t me!"

_"Open your legs, baby, let me in."_

Harry raised his wand.

"I'll kill myself," Draco shouted.

Then he was unconscious.

*

Harry's mind sped through thoughts, never settling long enough to work anything out before jumping to the next. He'd never kiss the arch of Draco's foot again. How much could he replace until Draco wasn’t Draco any more? How could he remove two complete legs and not kill the person he'd taken them from?

He couldn’t care. He just couldn’t bring himself to care about the details when the big picture meant keeping or losing Draco. He would never choose letting Draco go, not as long as there was an alternative, and as far as he was concerned, he hadn’t run out of those yet.

Harry pulled the hood of his robe up to sit low over his face. He could hardly see but knew he was cast in shadow, which would be less suspicious than Disillusioning himself. Knockturn Alley was still dark but the sun would hit the cobblestone in only minutes. There were few people walking, but the first one that looked close to Draco's height and weight caught Harry's eyes. He was much darker skinned than Draco but it didn’t matter. It was just skin.

Without a noise, Harry lunged at the man from behind, Disapparating them with a brutal crack. They fell to the ground beside the bed where Draco rested, but he didn’t stir. Immediately Harry got to his feet and Stunned the man, but not before the man yanked out his own wand and shot a spell at Harry. The Stunner slumped the man, and Harry gritted his teeth against the slicing spell.

He hastily healed the gash on his shoulder and arm, feeling somewhat better about what he was about to do. This man was no innocent Muggle, whatever he was. Harry held on to that thought, as shaky as it was, as he drew back the blankets, trying not to gag at the smell of the decomposition of Draco's legs. The disease had spread more slowly this time, and Harry's trip had only cost Draco a few centimeters of thigh.

"I'm sorry, Draco," Harry said. He smoothed his hand down Draco's hip to his thigh, cringing when the skin abruptly turned cold and foreign.

In the weeks Draco had been okay, Harry had researched. He cast a spell that would slow Draco's heart so the blood wouldn’t pump as hard and fast when he cut the two femoral arteries. He cast another that would encourage the blood to stay away from the wounds. They weren’t perfect and Draco would lose blood, but not enough to kill him.

Harry swallowed against his rising gorge as he used the cutting spell to dispatch Draco's legs. He looked so strange without them, so small. He couldn’t bear to spell them away, so he moved them to the floor beside the bed. Adding to the Stunner by spelling the man unconscious, Harry worked away at his legs, trying to cut cleanly because he didn’t want Draco to be horrified by the scarring, as he had been with his first arm.

The man was bleeding profusely and Harry realised with horror that he hadn’t cast the same protective spells on him. He did then, but didn’t let himself think about what he already knew.

The man's legs were thicker than Draco's and didn’t line up perfectly. "Fuck," Harry said. He attached them as best he could, starting at the bone and working out, but the man's legs left gaps where they wouldn’t connect with Draco's properly. He healed anything that was left open, and just hoped that in time things would even out.

"Please don't hate me," Harry whispered to Draco, who was sweating and breathing shallowly but didn’t seem to be in immediate danger.

There was blood everywhere. Harry was covered in it, the bed beneath Draco was drenched, and there was a pool beneath the man that had stopped growing.

"You'll be all right, Draco. We're going to be fine." Once Draco's pride recovered, he'd see that Harry had done the right thing. He'd saved him, saved them both.

Harry cleaned up as best he could, but he was exhausted, his heart sore and scared, and his mind overwhelmed with things he knew he would never stop seeing. He got into bed beside Draco and pulled the blanket over both of them. Everything would be better in the morning, when Draco was awake.

Placing his hand on Draco's chest, Harry tried to relax. Then his brain absorbed what his hand was feeling.

His stomach clenched and his blood chilled. There was a small spot, just over Draco's ribs.

Grey.


End file.
